What did you do with your weekend?

Nothing much. I’m not a partier.

That’s a shame! You’re supposed to get out your partying days now before you’re old and expected to be responsible.

Maybe I’m old at heart. I think it’s just called tired.

Why is it snowing so much more now than it did over the holidays?

Who knows. Isn’t there a saying about when the days begin to lengthen…?

Kattar’s big surgery is this Friday, though there have been a lot of little ones throughout the week. 

Mrs. Moon still hasn’t been able to get her ticket changed.

I’m still on the visitors’ list but I have no time -

The texts are sporadic - he’s spent a whole lot of this week unconscious.

Don’t you think the janitor looks kind of like Mr. Rogers?

Oh, yeah. I hadn’t thought of that.

Seriously? I mean, come on. He’s even wearing a sweater.

So are you, genius. It’s like 10 degrees.

I bet it’s so cold in the hospital.

You going straight home?

Probably.

The last few days have felt like running through water.

I go to bed. I wake up just as tired as I was the night before, which makes sense since I haven’t been getting off of work until 11 p.m. 

I’m so tired but I don’t want to sleep. And dream about…

Him.

Just tell the truth, Alicia.

I had a nightmare last night - we relived the accident-

That’s it, reality is horrifying enough.

*

Tonight is colder than it has any right to be. Snow glitters under my worn-out boots like a thousand fallen stars, and my feet go numb through the soles - through the stockings. I feel soggy and gray, stamping against the sidewalk to keep from freezing while we wait for the traffic to slow down enough to cross the street. Everyone’s in a hurry to be somewhere - maybe restaurants, maybe parties - I wouldn’t put it past them, even on a weeknight.

What I wouldn’t give to be home already…

“Well, the left wing looks cute,” Shannon smiles, “And it’s about time. For people who work in art, the staff sure had some gaudy tastes.”

I smile a little in spite of myself, but it feels like a hairline crack, spreading outward from my lips in a thin, crooked line.

“It does seem a little redundant to decorate a museum. I guess they wanted to make a big show out of it since it’s the first new exhibit in a while. Still, it was definitely a good thing we got to give our opinion before opening day. Those streamers were…” I just shake my head, and let out a long slow breath, watching it blossom into a white cloud in the blackness in front of me. I breathe in the frozen night and the heaviness resettles. 

It’s too late. 

I so don’t want to cook when I get home, but I’ve burned through my leftovers, and there’s been no time to bake anything. I don’t want to bathe. I don’t want to move. I’d go to sleep here on the street corner if I wouldn’t freeze to death.

“Only a week left,” Shannon says, crossing his arms against the cold, “You excited yet?”

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m too exhausted to be much of anything right now,” I start to sigh but catch myself, and force a smile, “We’ve been working way too much overtime these days…”

“Well, it’s done now.” he smiles, shaking his head at the reminder, with a hearty sigh, before turning and grinning in my direction, “Why don’t we celebrate? We could go grab a bite to eat somewhere.”

“Ohhh…” I hesitate. I don’t really feel up to going anywhere, but the idea of making dinner at 9:00 p.m. isn’t too appealing either…

“I don’t want to go anywhere far,” I say slowly, like my lips are resisting the words. “I’m so tired of walking...”

“It’s not far,” he smiles assuringly. “There’s a place just around the corner.”

I relent and allow myself to follow him, trying not to imagine what Kattar would think if he knew. Shannon stays on the outside of the sidewalk, by the curb, shielding me from the wind, and matches his pace to mine. His huge shadow seems to radiate heat rather than add to the cold. I’m drenched, or maybe swamped, in its weight.

We pass down the slippery stretch of sidewalk, glazed with ice and dusted with snow like a cloyingly thick layer of powdered sugar, and turn off the main road into a side street that looks like a neighborhood.

Alicia.

Something chews at my anxiety as we stray further and further from anything that resembles a business. Row houses loom over me like giants with big, sticky shadows, heavier than Shannon’s, blocking out the stars and the city light - now too far away. My heart rate accelerates, but without thinking I slow my pace, like I’m moving through quicksand.

We come to a stop in front of a large, two-story row house - gray on the sides, with a vivid false front of rose-red bricks.

My heart drops into my stomach so forcefully it almost knocks me to my knees, but I force myself to remain standing and ask warily, trying to keep my voice steady, and firm.

“Shannon, what are we doing here? Did you forget something?”

“Yeah, candles,” he laughs, sliding his arm around my waist, “But you can do without right?”

Oh god.

My blood turns to ice - turns to a thousand tiny daggers piercing through the skin-

 “N-no,” I stammer quickly, raising my hands like they could emit a force field and trying to free myself from the embrace, but it doesn’t give.

“Careful, girl. You’ll fall.”

“Let me go…” I manage, whispering through my teeth.

He relinquishes his hold, and I stagger backward, keeping my eyes on the pavement.

Just go home. Turn around and go home. Right now-

But I’m paralyzed.

“Alicia-” he starts to say.

“Don’t - don’t call me that,” I say too loudly, trying to speak over the voices in my head. I force my eyes to meet his despite my better judgment and shiver beneath the green fire, “I’m-I’m Miss Palmero to you, sir.”

And I don’t know whether I should feel sorry or not for the look on his face. The eyes surge with hurt and confusion like an injured animal - but wild and red-hot - rabid-

 My skin burns, my whole body trembling with panic. 

This isn’t - this isn’t what we said. We were just supposed to - no - no-

Anything but that - if he had asked me anything but that-

I feel everything starting to break down - the world spinning -

“Shan- I can’t-” I don’t even know what to say. My brain explodes with red flashes like strobe lights - everything moving too quickly. The eyes blaze from hurt to frustration - and then anger - burning in his head, and radiating a heat that washes out the backstreet like a wall of fire. 

I’m sorry. 

Should I be saying sorry?

“Oh, would you stop being ridiculous, Alicia?” He growls with exasperation, and I stare at him in mute misery, as the sickening settles in my stomach. He steps forward - I don’t even want to imagine for what - and I recoil like from a leaping flame, but stay dumb - too shattered to say - to explain anything-

“Shannon, please,” I whisper. He stays where he’s standing, his shadow swallowing mine. 

“I-I’m going home,” I say meekly, and he crosses his arms, watching as I turn on my heel, and walk rapidly back in the direction we came from.

The streets - the shadows - all descend into sticky black - eating at my heels - my life falls to pieces in slow motion, for the tenth - for the ten thousandth time-

He’s still standing there but I can’t make myself look back.

I just have to go - get - get home. Get home now-

He doesn’t try to follow me - coughing up my shadow.

I make my way through the snowy road - across the main street and to the subway - everything swimming in hyper-speed - the cars blitz past in puddly, muddled blurs-

I don’t know why I’m crying - and I don’t try to hide it either. Let the strangers in the subway stare. I don’t care. I don’t ca-

The sobs strangle me - intercepting each breath of air before it can provide relief.

I huddle small in my trenchcoat and stare at my worn-out boots, trying desperately not to drown in the salt water.

The tears run down and into my collar - soaking the hair scratching my face and neck.

I can’t do this.

I can’t.

I’m sorry, Kattar. 

I’m done.

And when he knows…?

I can’t even think of that today.

The front door swings open under my fingertips like it’s running away from the tempest raging inside me-

I can’t bre-

I kick my high heels into the corner with a furious crack that chips the paint into the shape of a fang. 

The shadow-

I kick over the easel and it collapses with an ear-splitting cry, falling into a state of disassembly.

Let it weep-

The shadow leaks-

I take one of the legs and throw it at the wall too. This crash is louder, more paint falls, and a crack runs across the wall and toward the baseboard.

The shadow screams-

The shadow crashes into me with the force of a hurricane - with the violence of a tsunami - with the ferocity of a car crash where I’m the only one who comes out okay-

If you can call this okay-!

If you have the audacity to look me in the face and call this okay-!!!

I collapse onto the carpet beside the broken easel and cry myself to sleep.

Tuesday dawns with the sound of chickadees playing in the yard, spilling their sunshine through the glass like happy fairies.

I close the curtains and pull the jacket up over my head like a coffee-colored shroud - praying I suffocate before the phone call.